Refuge Saga(WT)

Chapter One

Author’s Note:


This being a western there is a good amount of horse terminology.


Roan: A rust colored horse


Paint: Pinto but usually called a paint and not a pinto at this time in history.





Uriah Hope crouched behind a tipped wagon. He hadn’t been back in refuge one full day yet and already the town was suffering a crime wave. He’d been wakened rather rudely with a loud banging on his hotel room door. A boy had told him the bank was being robbed in breathless panic and Uriah had reacted on years of training dragging on the necessary clothing items while on the move.


“Uriah, do you know that we haven’t had a bank robbery since you left?” Sid White, Refuge’s sheriff wondered from beside him.


Uriah looked down at the grousing white haired man, the glint in the other man’s pale blue eyes giving away the charade.”What can I say, I attract trouble.” Uriah scanned the situation in the predawn light. He was the ranking law man, being a U.S. Marshal, while Sid was the towns elected sheriff.”So, how many.”


“Looks like two, there are only two horses.” Sid pointed out the horses tethered outside the bank.


There was a paint with nondescript tack that Uriah didn’t recognize. He didn’t really expect to. The other was a roan with blond tail and main. “That roan look familiar to you?” Uriah asked.


“It ain’t his.” Sid answered without looking up from loading his backup revolver.


Uriah let the comment go but folded it up and tucked it away in case he needed it later. Instead he focused on taking stock of the situation. “How many we got.”


“Six.” Sid looked up and scanned the street. “That includes us. Liam’s my deputy.” Sid referred to his son. ”Then there’s Gary, Tom and Rory, all part of the standing posse.”


Uriah’s eyes followed. Refuge really hadn’t changed much in six years. The bank in front of them was new, but not Gregory’s Feed and Goods at their back. Gregory’s competition flanking the Bank to the right on the other hand was so new Uriah could smell the saw dust and pine sap from across the street.


A whistle and a flick of the wrist by Sid sent Gary and Tom crouching off around the back of the Bank. “Looks like we have some back up too.” Sid’s flicked his eyes at the two rifle barrels sticking out of the top floor of Gregory’s. “Well,” Sid drew a breath, “You ready?”


Uriah nodded and Sid gestured that he could take the lead. “You in there,” Uriah called, after giving Gary and Tom a minute to circle around. “I got armed men at the back and an armed town at the front of you, so there’s only two ways this is will end. You walking out or carried out. I hope you choose the walking. If we carry you out, you won’t be breathing.”


Uriah let the would-be robbers chew on that for a minute before continuing. “If you want to surrender, toss your bullets and guns out the window; then make your way out the door with your hands up.”


There was a pause and Uriah could hear the others shifting in impatience as the seconds ticked slowly by. Finally, the patter of ammunition hitting the dirt road followed by the heavier thud of a pistol and then a rifle drew a sigh of relief form Sid, but not Uriah. There weren’t enough weapons. He was sure there were at least two maybe three people in that bank.


“It’s not over yet Sheriff,” Uriah warned, “stay sharp.” Uriah trained his weapon at the bank’s open door and it darkened. Uriah found himself holding his gun on a gangly Fourteen year old.


“Hank Rose?” Sid said, and started to stand.


Uriah pushed the older man back down, “There might be more.”


“Uriah, you’ve been gone a long time, that’s George Rose’s boy,” Sid explained. “He didn’t rob that bank. We have to get him away before he gets shot.”


Uriah blinked as the boy’s face morphed before his eyes to the green eyed eight year old that used to pester him trying to get a chance hold his gun. He blinked again and he was holding his weapon on a fourteen year old that appeared to have just robbed a bank. Georg Rose’s boy or not the kid had some explaining to do. “Is there anybody else in there, boy?” he yelled out. The boy shook his head no. “Alright then, hands up,”


“That boy didn’t rob the bank.” Sid popped back up as if he were spring loaded and Uriah pulled him back down behind the wagon just as a bullet hit it sending a shard of wood flying at Sid’s face. The shrapnel drew a garnet line beside the old sheriff’s eye. Another shot sounded. Uriah’s head bobbed up and down behind the wagon trying to pin point where the shots were coming from. Uriah saw Rory sprawled on the boardwalk unmoving. And the kid face first in the dirt road, but he was trying to scoot for cover.


Liam and whoever was in Gregory’s home were returning fire. “Don’t shoot!” Sid was up again and Uriah wondered if he had a death wish as the Sheriff punctuated his order by flapping his arms


“Damn it Sid!” Uriah hulled the old man down again. Just as they ducked behind the relative safety of the wagon Uriah was forced to watch the roan carry his rider away amid a hail of fire but as far as Uriah could tell, unscathed. The horse on the other hand was not, Uriah had noted. It had sustained a flesh wound to rump. Nothing that would impede it’s rider’s flight, but definitely something that Uriah could use for identification purposes until it healed at least.


“It was him!” He blurted accusingly at Sid.


Sid looked up at Uriah. “It was not Billy, Uriah.”


Anger rose up in his belly and Uriah turned it to the boy still sprawled in the middle of the street. “Alright, boy, get up. You are under arrest.” The kid looked at him, green eyes growing as he took in the gun barrel pointed at him.


“You’re arresting him?” Sid demanded.


Uriah looked at Sid, tight lipped and bit out the answer. ”Yes, I am going to arrest him. If nothing else he lied to me and aided the flight of an outlaw.”


“Liam, get the posse organized,” Sid wheeled on his son. Liam wasn’t the quickest but he knew the lay of the land better than most.


“Alright kid, walk toward me.”


Hank looked at Uriah, thick brows furrowing over his eyes, “Who are you?”


“This is United States Marshal Uriah Hope.” Sid flourished the younger man’s title to the point of sarcasm. “Rory has a flesh wound, and you don’t know the half of what’s going on.” Sid hissed.


The boy tilted his head, the sheriff’s sarcasm missed or ignored, “You’re Mrs. Hope Vega’s brother,” he said. He crossed the space between them, stopping just out of Uriah’s reach. He looked at Uriah intently. “You don’t look like your sister.”


Uriah snorted despite himself. He felt his anger subside. “No I don’t believe I do,” he said. His only sister, Elizabeth, was a Cree Indian, though her auburn hair spoke of European ancestry. Uriah’s father had found her while hunting after a blizzard; her mother’s body the only thing between her and certain death from exposure. Having four boys and not a single girl, Uriah’s mother had taken the babe, christened her Elizabeth and raised her as her own.


The town was awake now, with the sun just a sliver on the eastern horizon. Uriah blinked in the new light of day and shook his head as he realized only about 5 minutes had passed since the boy had pounded on the door to his room. Men and women in various states of dress stood on the board walk or doorways in clumps and knots hashing out events most knew next to nothing about.


Uriah felt a pang as he realized, even as he took Hank into custody, why Sid was so worked up about arresting Hank. Everybody knew Hank and everybody knew the Roses. It would be a long time before Hank could live this down; if he ever did.


Well it was too late now. Uriah put a hand on Hanks shoulder and was startled by its boniness. “Let’s go boy.”











Sid’s office also doubled as a jail. The utter sameness of the place almost stopped Uriah in his tracks. It had been six years since he’d turned his star into Sid, but it might as well have been the next day. The layer of dust that covered the place didn’t even looked disturbed.


Uriah held Hank securely by the scruff of his neck as he snatched the iron ring form the nail behind Sid’s desk, his hand automatically separating the key he wanted. He propelled the boy forward and into the open cell.


“Are they gonna hang me Marshal?” Hank’s voice was so small that Uriah almost didn’t hear it over the heavy clang iron door as it shut.


“You’re in a lot of trouble, Hank. One of the town folks was shot while you and whoever were trying to shoot your way out of the bank. That’s a lot different than just taking the money.” Uriah hoped the boy’s accomplice didn’t get away.


Hank swallowed. “Yes, sir.”


Uriah studied the boy on the other side of the bars. “Whose idea was it to rob that bank?” Uriah asked, Sid’s accusation of ignorance had stuck.


Hank looked up.“Mine, sir.” He answered.


“Whatever for?”


The door to the Sid’s office banged open interrupting Uriah’s interrogation. Both law men turned to find bolder-shaped Philip Hoke, the bank owner, squeezing through the door frame aided by his oily complexion.


“Sheriff, I would like to know when you plan to carry out your duty to evict the free loaders on my property.” Philip addressed Sid who must have followed Uriah in and was now sitting behind his desk with boots propped up on it.


“You’re bank was just robbed, Mr. Hoke, I should think you’d have enough to do today without adding the unpleasant business of evicting the Rose Family.” Sid pointed out.


“The robbery was a ploy, and I will not allow it to be successful by delaying the business at hand. Now, you shall escort me to evict the tenants of my land.”


Uriah looked around the butterball to Sid who cleared his throat and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “George used the land as guarantee for a loan, but there’s no money to pay it back. And George has more on his mind with Abigail…”


“Dying.” Uriah’s mind supplied. He knew the land, it was a hundred acres of good farm on the southern border of the Hope spread. Uriah’s father had given it to George in payment of work he did on the ranch.


“That was 2 years ago and the loan came due 5 months ago.” Hoke continued. “They’re still living on my property. I have buyers that will pay what the land is worth.”


“And George doesn’t have to be off the property until noon today.” Sid reminded.


Philip looked as if he would splutter a response until Uriah put up a hand to stay coming onslot of ill chosen words. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You think the boy robbed your bank to delay the eviction. And you would like his family forcibly removed from the property--today.”


Hoke straightened to his full if portly height. “I am within my rights.” He said.


Uriah took a step closer to the money man and fixed him with a cold gaze, “Yes, sir, you are within your legal rights.” A full two inches shorter than Philip, Uriah somehow towered over him. “The law being on your side, Mr. Hoke, does not make your behavior any less contemptible.


“I’m sure Elizabeth and her husband will allow the Rose’s to stay with them.” Uriah said, ignoring the banker.


“We’ve tried that, George wouldn’t be persuaded. He wanted to abide by Abigail’s wish to be laid to rest with her children.”


“They’ve already left.” Hank’s voice cut into the room.


Uriah cocked his head at the boy. Hank was standing at the bars. His hands gripping them so tightly his knuckles were white. “What are you saying, boy?”


“You don’t have to worry about my Pa, Marshal Hope. He’s already off the land. Or he was going to be. We finished packing up last night. I asked your sister for her wagon to move my ma with before riding into town.” Hank hung his head a large tear splashed to dust covered plank floor. Hank looked up.


“Well then, let’s get going, Sheriff.” Hoke said brightening, taking an almost gleeful step toward the door.


It was such a display of base selfishness that Uriah could only stand gaping at the repulsive human. If ‘human’ was the right word.


“We, are not going anywhere.” Sid rumbled.


“Well then I will just go myself.” Philip Hoke turned the door knob to exit.


“George has until noon, if you set one foot on that property before the sun is directly over my head, I will arrest you for trespassing.” Sid said, and watched the Banker wilt under his gaze.


“Well,” Hoke jutted his chin in defiance, “I want to press charges against the boy.”








A mile out of Refuge, give or take a yard, a little split board house squatted on a bare patch of land bracketed by harvested and fallow fields, the stubs of dead vegetation glinting golden in the rising sun. Laura Wheaton hummed softly to herself as she scrapped some butter into the skillet and watched it melt quickly on the hot surface. Her deft hands cracked eggs two at a time until six were sizzling and turning white in the butter as their sunny faces greeted the morning. Taking no note, Laura scrambled them quickly with a wooden spoon. She crumbled a bit of sharp cheddar and added some beacon to a different skillet it sizzled happily and she turned to put the ready pan with the biscuits in to the oven when an unexpected but practiced hand caressed her ticklish spot making her jump and scream.


She whirled around and found her husband dodging away. “Mitt Wheaton, you’re worse than a school boy.” Laura put the biscuits in the oven.


“Biscuits. We’re getting ready to leave.”


“And they will be done by the time we leave.” Laura promised. “And it sounds like you’ve woken our guest.”


William “Billy” Connor descended the ladder to the loft. “I’ve been woken in far less pleasant ways.” He admitted. He smiled when Mitt planted a chase kiss on his wife’s lips.


“See he doesn’t mind. Besides, he and I have to get the team ready.” The two men shrugged on their jackets and left the warm house for the nippy air of fall. “Isn’t that your horse there Billy?”


Billy followed Mitt’s gesture “So it is.” Billy agreed. “What is he doing out.” Billy’s roan coated gelding had a blond mane and tail and was snorting and stamping his feet shying this way and that until Billy caught the lead on his halter; the lead that should have been fastened to the hook in the barn stall. “Is there a herd around here?”


“There’s one that likes to run the ridge off yonder.” Mitt replied gesturing toward the west.


Billy looked over his skittish horse. His hand brushed something on the horses flank and the animal balked and snorted. Billy looked. “Must have gone after a mare.”


“The mares aren’t in season.”         


Billy shrugged at loss to explain his horse’s appearance in the yard. He ran his hand over the animal body to check for any injuries, he had nearly a days ride a head of him. His gloved hand touched a tender spot on the houses flank. He examined it. It was just a scratch, about two inches long and half as wide as his finger. Nothing really to worry about.


It took most of the morning but the Wheatons were finally packed up and ready to get up into the wagon seat.


“I wish Beth Ann could have come.” Laura said, speaking of Billy’s wife. “Tell her I said good bye. And that I will write.”


“I will Laura, I promise.” Then he bowed his head with them and intonated a sincere prayer safe travel and divine protection for their journey. When he had finished the trio exchanged their last goodbyes. Billy watched them lurch toward the sunrise for a few minutes before  mounting his own horse and riding southwest.